


Fen'Harel's Shadow

by FenVallas



Series: Revasel Lavellan [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Mention of Original Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4396472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenVallas/pseuds/FenVallas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas and Revasel have a serious discussion in the shadow of the Dread Wolf's statue and Solas continues to keep secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fen'Harel's Shadow

The night was cool and quiet, the sort of night that would have prompted her to slip beyond the boundaries of the camp in her youth to bathe alone in streams and climb tall trees to look up at the distant stars. Tonight, she wasn’t alone, accompanied by Solas, who held her hand in his as they walked beside a small stream just outside the perimeter of base camp. It was a contrast from the days she’d spent in solitude in her youth, but she was grateful for his presence and the warmth of his body as they meandered through the forest.

They were alone, moonlight filtering through the trees, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the forest floor. Solas looked handsome, something about him almost ethereal in the white-blue light, illuminating his angular face and lending intensity to his already sharp eyes. They meandered along toward no place in particular, brushing shoulders every so often, stopping only when Rey tugged them toward one of the statutes that littered the Dales.

The wolf looked almost alive in the shadow, as if it could spring to life any moment. She had always thought they looked noble and serene, these depictions of the loyal companions of the Emerald Knights, but more and more began to wonder at their full significance. Releasing Solas’ hand, she climbed up onto the pedestal to investigate the engraving on the wolf’s back, ancient runes she could just barely make out, worn away by wind and rain as they were.

“Do you know what this says?” She asked Solas, who was still standing on the ground, looking at her with an inquisitive expression on his face. “I can make out a few words. Protection… Guidance? Obviously, that’s Wolf.” Revasel brushed her finger along one of the runes, almost cautiously, as if it would disintegrate underneath her touch. “I’m not as fluent as you are.”

“It is a poem,” Solas said, stepping up beside her with little effort, his long fingers pressing flat against the stone. “ _This statue is dedicated to those who lost their lives here. May the Dread Wolf strike fear into the hearts of their enemies and continue to guard their souls_.”

The words “guard” and “Dread Wolf” sounded strange in the same sentence. Most of her religious studies had been dedicated to learning the lore surrounding the Wolf and discussing the most practical ways to defend against his influences. Naturally, most Keepers said, there wasn’t much way to defend against the natural disaster he could cause, but one could always protect one’s clan from bandits and internal dissent. Nothing had ever been said about him save that he was wrathful, jealous, and hateful, and that he sought the destruction of the people. It seemed alien that he would ever seek their safety.

Normally, such an epitaph would be dedicated to Falon’Din, who was the god of the Dead, not Fen’Harel. The _vallaslin_ upon her face suddenly felt strangely heavy.

“I should take Mahvir here,” she said, clearing her throat and taking an involuntary step back, looking into the eyes of the wolf, which still seemed serene and vigilant. “He would have a field day with a few lines of text and its implications.”

Solas remained silent, walking along the length of the platform to press his hands to the Wolf’s ruff, stroking the stone, his expression an odd mixture of reserved and contemplative. “I doubt that two lines of text would be enough to venerate Fen’Harel in the eyes of the Dalish. I am certain Mahvir would realize this, as excited as it would undoubtedly make him.”

Revasel hesitated and stepped back up onto the pedestal, standing beside Solas, who was staring at the stone with a force she hadn’t expected. While it was true that he was often unforgiving of the Dalish interpretation of Elven Lore, she knew him to hold particularly mild views on the matter of religion and faith. He had never expressed a belief in any god, never subscribed to any religion, Human or Elven, leaving this sudden sensitivity at the mention of Fen’Harel another eccentricity of his.

“Does it bother you? I didn’t… I didn’t think you believed in our gods.” Rey reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, which seemed to draw him from his trance.

“I don’t believe they were gods,” Solas explained with the tone he usually reserved for debating, which told her he was expecting a fight.

Gently, she soothed her hand down his arm and laced their fingers together again, which only seemed to upset him further for some incomprehensible reason. He furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at their laced fingers and visibly swallowed before he finally met her eyes. “It is foolish to think a ghost story has the veracity of the truth. We saw it at the villa, vhenan. I do not think it is acceptable to have the narrow view of history so many employ.”

“So many, including the Dalish?” She squeezed his hand, not particularly offended that he would think so; she had seen the way they treated her brother for even daring to suggest that their picture of history was incomplete. “Do you think Fen’Harel is a victim of history?”

“Only Fen’Harel himself would know the answer to that question,” Solas said, his lips pressed into a tight line, white and furious. “But it is not unreasonable to think that a people who had their history stolen from them not once, but twice, would forget the nuances of a man who has been little more than a myth for two thousand years.”

Solas had probably only read about Fen’Harel in _shemlen_ books. She knew from experience now, reading as much as she could out of curiosity about the way scholars viewed her people, that Fen’Harel was actually not much of a subject of discussion beyond the Dalish. It was strange to think that all his knowledge could be secondhand, that he may not actually understand the way the Dalish saw the Dread Wolf when Orlesians focused on Elgar’nan and his similarities (and disimilarites) to the Maker – as if their religion was the older and the Maker hadn’t come into existence thousands of years after her gods had first walked the earth.

“Growing up,” Revasel said as she reached out to grasp his other hand and force him to face her. “Growing up, we were always taught Fen’Harel was everywhere. He caused the fall of our people out of spite, and even now watched over us to oversee our constant misery. We weren’t taught he wanted us dead.”

“And do you believe he’s everywhere, vhenan?” Solas said, something ardent flashing through his eyes as he stepped closer, clasping her hands tightly between their chests. “Do you believe he hates your people so much that he wishes them harm and seeks to cause them to despair?”

“I don’t know,” Revasel searched his face, sensing this was somehow important to him, though she didn’t know why. “This isn’t the first thing that’s called into question what I believe. I know that what I grew up with shaped me, but I know that’s maybe not what my ancestors believed.”

She felt Solas relax, a slight smile gracing his lips. He leaned forward, touching their foreheads together, dropping her hands so that he could place a hand on her hip. The other brushed through her hair several times before cupping her face. Tender affection fluttered in her throat and chest, and she wrapped her arms around his neck in response, gazing into his eyes.

“There is nothing wrong with you the way you are,” Solas said, voice soft enough that only she could possibly hear it. “But I am glad that you acknowledge that what you believe is the result of your people’s experiences. I…” He shook his head ever so slightly and closed his eyes. “You have given me faith again. Perhaps The People can learn.”

“Are you… Alright?” She said as she leaned his head against his chest, pressing herself closer to his body, her arms dropping to wrap around his torso instead. “Does talking about this upset you?”

“No,” Solas replied too quickly, and then sighed, wrapping his arms securely around her. “No, Revasel. Not for the reasons you might think, at the very least. I will be fine. I am just truly glad to know how you feel on the subject. I… Was afraid that your mind wouldn’t be open to other possibilities.”

As assertive as Solas so very often was, his insecurities sometimes cropped up in strange places.

Honestly, she understood. She felt the same way when she thought of Deshanna, of her sharp grey eyes and the way she had always been so critical of everything Revasel had done, no matter how much time or effort she put into it. She understood when she recalled how strange it sometimes felt to be around the Elves of Skyhold who believed in the Maker and found the marks on her face just as strange and pagan as any _shemlen_. The Elves who were torn between their desire to know more about the “free Elves” and her fear of the Herald of blessed Anddraste and refused to approach her.

Solas didn’t need a reason to be wary of the Dalish.

“It bothered me at first. The way you talk about us, but I guess…” Revasel breathed out and closed her eyes, breathing in his scent. Solas smelled like home now, like ink and vellum, wood and fire, and like starlight might smell. “I guess I didn’t understand how we must look to people on the outside.”

Solas didn’t respond, simply holding her for a long moment before he pulled away, lacing their fingers together again. “Let’s not discuss this any further,” he offered her a smile and then pulled her along, away from the statue. “I do not wish to waste any of the time that we have together.”

“And you consider talking about this to be a waste?” Revasel leaned into him, bumping their shoulders together playfully. “Am I too boring and serious for you?”

She watched his lips twitch up into a smile, and she pulled him away from the statue into a beam of moonlight. “Come on,” she said, “let’s go somewhere more interesting. We don’t have much time before the march on the Arbor Wilds, so I want to steal every moment with you that I can.”

It took little prompting to convince him to follow, though out of the corner of her eye she caught him looking at her as if there were an unspoken secret lingering between them.

She couldn’t pretend that the secrets didn’t bother her, as often as he seemed just on the edge of confessing something, but she had faith one day he would tell her the truth. His love for her wasn’t in doubt, and that love would change everything, she just had to have faith in him.


End file.
